Symbolic U & I


The plants we grew meant more
than our tuxedo cats

The plants we grew from water and soil
from seed to root to shoot

fed our love of capsaicin
minted our freshly squeezed mojitos

The life, the creation
the sun it needed
the care you gave it
made me

That that gives
gave too much
then gave too little

That that lived
then didn’t

That, that I knew
That, that I saw

A plant, it grew
A plant, our home
A plant, I thought I could trust was firm
To plant a lie, a plan was plant

to let it go
to wilt, to fault, to say good-bye
until it shrunk
beneath the ground
yes you can revive
but can you reach

Image result for soil plant


The Beginning 4.21.16

Goodbye Xanga, Hello WordPress

Back in the 2000’s, Xanga was the preferred blogging platform, thee best with over 27 million users. At my high school, we used it to share our content[1], adolescent event filled days evidenced by endearing and free-hearted photos uploaded via PictureTrail.

I don’t know about others but in actuality, I used it as a private diary, and I let any stinging, open, opaque wounds or negative ideas fester in anger, hatred, and resentment. It pulsated aggressively and it grew unrestrained because it never found its correct outlet. To this day, I probably still do not have the well-adjusted ‘adult’ approach in dealing with emotions on the whole.

Now at 27, I am publishing entries[2] I once wrote in secret. I can only think of 5 Xangians who can probably recall the entries I did share and who left favorable comments on my ‘writing’. My entries are vain, self-absorbed, but likely to still echo a boxed in reality preteens still live in. I think I want these entries to speak to individuals in the same age range these posts represent, because in an age of Instagram and Facebook, everything seems so superficially happy, so pictorially validated that words and ideas have fallen quite bleakly on the wayside; but I still want to speak to people of my age who feel lost and uncertain in their current being. Who knows, maybe it’s just me.

The capability to write proficiently, I feel, did get me into the college of my dreams as a junior in high school, and I feel does matter so deeply in the mechanisms and reliefs of our brain, heart, and feelings. The correlation between literacy and “success” is no joke.

I want to do what I love. I haven’t accomplished that yet and I haven’t ever tried. This is a small step towards a passion I envisioned ten years ago. There’s a reason why artists are popularly represented in black. It is so difficult to express yourself so openly – for me, in a reserved and ‘proper’, unimposing culture – for me, because I am fearful and afraid to trust – for everyone because very few of us prefer judgment and vulnerability. I’ve always wanted to write but writing, ideally editorially, at my aptitude always felt so subpar or inept. It’s no research journal I’m attempting to author and no novel I’m selling to MGM. My aim is not a Pulitzer; my aim is not Chanel shades or a Hermes bag; my aim is a voice, a speck, a speck Calvin so eloquently screamed at the vast skies, “I’M SIGNIFICANT.”

[1] (kənˈtent/ adjective 1. in a state of peaceful happiness; not the noun now coincidentally referring to uploaded craft)

[2] Select entries

Faceless a la “Shape of Water”

“Awaken me, I’m numb.”

she thought,




never reaching

but pleading


her eyes, looking

her mind, secret

A life


A life

not easy

A life


in this

and in that

in every way

She whispers

a word

so foreign

so broken

unheard of


It meant

a wish

for you

for you

to reach

to hold

to try

to try

and to love.



The Stranger from the Bar

via Daily Prompt: Lust

The Stranger from the Bar

About last night
Beckoned me over
Called my phone with your number
Didn’t forget to add a 😉
Even though you
Forgot that I
Gave you a

Joked that it would be the last

Kisses came close
Laughter came easily
My smile eased you

Never did you look away
Openly interested
Politely advancing
Quietly admiring

Remember my skin
Svelte shoulder
Tucked hair
Under your arm I went
Velvet dress

Why did this have to end, 2am
X’s turned into O’s
Young, free, and radiant
Zzz together we did

U.S. Road Trip: LA, CA > Washington D.C.

THE DEPARTURE 09.17.2013

The beautician tightly and skillfully moves a smooth, thin thread over my brow ridge giving form to a distinctive and charismatic shape. The act is distressing and admittedly self-inflicted. Basic upkeep is always eventually ignored, leaving my brows free to flourish copiously. As a result, I do this often but this time, the process is unusually excruciating. I am too restless, too eager, and too impatient. The journey is sitting there, hands on lap, legs feverishly tapping, waiting for the wheels to move in harmonious motion, for the blurred lines between plan and fruition, between dream and reality to come together in a tidal wave of design.

For 2Pac


Natural Love – For Orlando


In the Spirit of Alan Moore’s V


Domestic disturbances disrupt the delicate development of a darling doll. Devotion doesn’t definitively declare delight despite deft determination. Denial, discrimination, dislike, and disregard destroy, discourage, and develop a disturbing distress and disquiet. Deemed a disappointment and disaster, deceiver’s deplorable, devious deliberation and development of dangerous destruction and damage deepen. Disbelief we declare, delay in destroying dehumanization and decoding depression. Denounce our demand for distinct definitions in daily doings. Defend diversity and dissimilarity, or draft and deliver a design – a dark debt, a duplicate devastation.